I'll see you in Hell
by Weruca
Summary: It was a special kind of torture that was planned and calculated artfully just for them. One-Shot, Bela/Dean


**Disclaimer: **Don't own the characters.

**Beta: **Ruby (the best beta I've ever had, honestly)

**Rating:** M

**Wordcount:** 1804

**Pairing:** Dean Winchester/Bela Talbot

**Warnings:** Abuse, incest, rape and.. well, Hell.

**A/N:** This text is basically just a small slice of hell that was written to speculate what the experience of hell is like for Bela (and Dean). Even though the text itself isn't that graphical, the whole thing still revolves around themes that some might not want to read about. Things like torture, rape, abuse and incest are clearly mentioned. The rating is set this high as a precaution.

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><p>"<strong>I'll see you in Hell."<strong>

The one thing that Bela hated most in Hell was how it seemed to know her. It knew every single atom in her body and every corner of her mind. If the agony of existing wouldn't have been so great, she could have acknowledged the fact how ingenious it all was. There was nothing arbitrary in Hell. It was as if during the short moments that her flesh had been ripped apart by hell-hounds, Alistair had spread her out in front of him. Mapped out every part of her body and mind, carefully structuring a plan to make her agony in Hell complete. With every small detail and moment built to enhance the torture.

She wasn't quite sure if the loss of sense of space and direction was custom planned for her, but she hated it. Sometimes she would be hanging upside down, chained in to nothing by large, rusty and burning hooks that gripped into her flesh like raving, ravenous dogs. In the next moment she would be lying, her cheek against hard, volcanic rock and suddenly her world would shift and she was being held under ice cold water.

Bela was used to knowing what surrounded her. When she was alive, she had been able to map out all the exits of a room she entered in seconds. She had been able to assess the people that might be a threat to her; she had been able to spot all the artefacts that might have significant value. Now it was all different. Most of the time, her world was spinning and she couldn't sense anything but the purgatory she was in. Pain, plain and simple. It was so overwhelming that she couldn't observe anything else but it and, to her, it added yet another agonising dimension to her inferno.

For what seemed like years, pain had been the only thing the woman could count on to happen. The only certainty in hell was torment. It had been before they brought Dean Winchester to her for the first time. She had been hanging in somewhere in middle the air, as she had suddenly felt a vigorous pull down. Her flesh had been ripped apart by the hooks that had held her, as she was falling into an abyss. Bela had landed hard against cold concrete floor and realised that – for the first time in ages – she wasn't hurting at all.

It had given her time to study her surroundings and she had quickly noticed that she was in a room that resembled a basement. The only source of light in the darkness was a tiny, flickering light bulb that illuminated only small part of the room with its yellow, dirty light. Somewhere, in one of the dark corners, she heard water drip in a slow but steady pace and just in the edge where the light was consumed by darkness, she could make out the outline of a boiler. And then, finally, she had realised that she wasn't alone in the room. A series of painful groans echoed in the corners of the room and slowly Bela saw a figure moving towards the light. As it came closer she realised it was a man and when he lifted his chin, she found that she was staring straight into the dark green eyes of Dean Winchester.

Not even realising it, she stumbled closer to him and as she was about to fall to the ground, she felt his strong hand grab her. It steadied her and at that moment, when he touched her, she felt as if she had regained some of her sanity. Some of her sense of self, some clarity. She had forgotten what it felt like to experience something other than pain, She had thought that she never could again. A neutral, warm touch of another human. It didn't burn, it didn't freeze and at first it had felt strange. Judging by the look on Dean's face, she assumed that it had been as strange to him too.

As she pressed her lips against his, she had thought that it was pure instinct that drove her into his arms. That it was something human moving inside of her, forcing her to touch him. To find comfort in his warm arms wrapping around her like a wall between her fragile self and the hell. To prove that this was real and she wasn't alone. The kiss, the soft caress of his fingers, his warmth it had all felt so divine, so good that she had almost cried. But she should have known that there was nothing good in hell. Bela should have known that they were just acting a part in Alistair's little play.

It was a special kind of torture that was planned and calculated artfully just for them.

As the kiss grew deeper, Dean gently lifted her and placed her to the ground. His hands trailing the curve of her hip sent shivers down her spine as his lips moved away from hers. He planted small kisses on to her neck and carry on moving downwards. Her own delicate fingers found their way to his fly, opening it and sliding into his pants. And at that moment, as her delicate fingers brushed against his erection, Bela knew that soon her world would change again. Soon she would be the scared little girl she used to be, waiting in her bed for her father to come. She would remember nothing of hell or Lilith or Dean. Only feel the fear and pain and horror she had felt then. And no matter how many times it happened, she could never tell herself that it wasn't real.

Still, as she once again laid there on her back, she couldn't stop. Instead she desperately tried to memorise what the gentle touch felt like. She tried to inhale as much of Dean's scent as she could and savour the flavour of his hot mouth. Bela strived to absorb every good thing about this small moment of intimacy. She tried to form a memory that would help her keep hanging on to the shreds of identity. Her self. And as she wrapped her fingers around Dean's hard shaft, the last thought in her mind was that maybe the hope was part of the torment as well.

In one, quick flash Bela was back in her bed. She had dozed off, but the silent sound of the closing door had woken her. The small click sounded to her as a gun had just fired at her. It made her heart race and her muscles tense. It was because she knew who it was that came to her. She could hear the heavy steps her father took as he walked closer to the bed and she knew that there was no where she could run. And so she tried to escape into her own mind.

She stared at the ceiling in the dark and tried to find a place where he couldn't touch her, a private part of her mind that nobody else could enter. But it didn't work. As he leaned closer to her, the strong and sharp, disgusting smell of alcohol tore her away from her thoughts and Bela couldn't stop the tears from falling. Even though it made everything worse; it made him mad.

The duvet the girl had tried to cover her body with was lifted just enough for her father to slip his hand under it. She wanted to scream and run as she felt his coarse and dry fingertips on her knee. But she was too scared to move.

"Father, please." She cried with a shaky, silent voice that almost died onto her lips. "Don't. Father, please don't," she pleaded as the man bent over her.

Bela was freed from the memory just moments before Dean was about to reach his peak. As she came back to reality, back to hell, she saw Dean hovering over her. His finger clasping tightly around her thighs as he pounded in intensely into her, ripping her apart more with each thrust. But as her gaze reached his eyes, she saw that he was crying like she was. She felt the hot tears drop down to her bare stomach and she knew that Dean had heard her. He had heard her plea to her father to leave her alone. He knew that he was raping her, but couldn't stop. And it was killing him.

When he forcefully came inside to her bleeding, beaten body Bela heard laughter from the room. There was a crowd of demons gathered around them, watching the fall, the suffering of a hero. Dean stared straight to her eyes, breathing heavily and Bela wanted to say that she didn't blame him. That even if she wanted, she could hold no rancour against him. Not as she heard Alistair's applause in the room.

Demons dragged Dean away from her before she could say anything. And this was always how it played out in the end. From time to time she would end up in the basement with her damned companion; they would carry out their parts as if they were just actors. They couldn't break the pattern, even though they both knew what was coming. Every time. The only thing that slowly changed was that as time passed, Bela was the only one crying while he was in her. She could see Dean dying and changing. And the woman was sure that there would come time when he would fully enjoy his special treat, as Alistair called her. She was sure that there would come a point when humanity would be burned from Dean's soul and he would only pleasure from her pain. But she was wrong, it never happened.

The last time she saw him, he was kissing her in the basement. Unlike countless times before, he didn't lower her to the ground. He didn't have the time, because as he was kissing her a burning, white light surrounded him. It burned Bela in a way that nothing in hell ever had, the pain was sharp and new. She tried to hold on to him, so he would not leave her here.

The room fell into pitch black darkness and Bela knew she would never be saved. She was left to suffer alone and she would again make a deal with a devil to be spared. It was only a matter of time before there would be no more of her left. Because as Dean Winchester was violently ripped away from her arms, so the last, frail ray of hope that she had left.


End file.
